He thought it would never happen. I thought it would never happen. His dentist said it had to happen, because his big-boy tooth was already all the way in (see above Exhibit "A"). "Wiggle it, buddy," I told him, "every chance you get." The dentist appointment was set for tomorrow afternoon, and really, where's the fun in that? At precisely age 7.504 years (2,740 days), RJ bravely went where every man has gone before. He wiggled it just a little bit, and out it came! The Tooth Fairy will be arriving in T-minus 15 minutes, just as soon as the glitter glue has a chance to dry. The going rate these days according to USA Today is $3.40 per tooth, down 30 cents from last year due to the weak economy. We live in Oklahoma. The economy is weaker, and the standard of living is lower. The tooth fairy will be tucking two Susan B. Anthony dollars under RJ's pillow along with a note penned in pink ink.
Sigh. He's precisely 7.504 years old tonight. I have been a mother for precisely 2,740 days (and a tooth fairy for precisely 65 minutes. So far.). He asked me to hold his tooth in my pocket while he played in the bounce house at our little Lutheran school's fall festival, and I finally understand why my mother has a box of my baby teeth in her jewelry box. He's only 7.504 years old, and tonight he's sleeping with his Bare Bear snuggled next to his cheek. I already kind of hate the tooth fairy, that sparkly spendthrift. Each time she visits, my boy will be closer to full grown. Susan B. Anthony's won't fill out the budget when Hot Wheels are no longer a hot commodity. Tonight, I'll don my fairy garb (or you know, some flannel PJ bottoms), sprinkle some fairy dust (and make sure to leave a little something extra for the house cleaner who will blessedly deal with the glitter mess), and kiss my sweet 7.504 year old's sweaty cheek. Two thousand, seven hundred and forty days have gone by awfully fast.
